


I Can Feel The Draw

by smac89



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: And feelings happened, I tried to write pwp, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Homophobic Terms, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2015-12-22
Packaged: 2018-05-08 08:13:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5490068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smac89/pseuds/smac89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky fell from the train in 1945 but he was never found by Hydra. He never became the Winter Soldier. But that doesn't mean he never found his way home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Can Feel The Draw

**Author's Note:**

> Based off agentsnowycarter's tumblr prompt that I can't link to right now because I am on mobile but I will update as soon as I have a working laptop that basically said that Bucky didn't become the Winter Soldier but he was still found by SHIELD a little after Steve was and he rips Steve a new one for crashing a plane into the Arctic.
> 
> And I added porn.
> 
> Because why not?

Bucky Barnes fell from the train in Austria on March 2nd, 1945. Three days later, Captain America was lost when his plane was forced down in the Arctic ocean. Unbeknownst to anyone at the time, but the serum flowing through Steve Rogers’ veins kept him alive while the ice kept him preserved. Also unbeknownst to anyone, the same thing happened to Bucky Barnes.

 

He had fallen high enough in the mountains that it never truly thawed, trapped under an ice floe in a river that never completely melted. The cold temperature and lack of oxygen kept him unconscious, and the serum Zola had injected him with kept him alive.

 

Seven decades passed while they both slept, separated by hundreds of miles but not in their dreams. Steve dreamed of summers in New York, of muggy nights and fireworks and ball games in the street. Bucky dreamed of muddy trenches and European forests and gunfights.

 

It was due to the whims of the Arctic weather that Steve Rogers was discovered, still entrapped inside the Hydra plane that had become his tomb. He was transported to New York, where his body was thawed so SHIELD could draw tissue and blood samples before he was interred in his empty grave in the Arlington National Cemetery. He was, much to everyone’s surprise, not dead.

 

Steve Rogers woke up to a world that might as well have been another planet, so far removed from his own that he felt like an alien. They told him the war had ended, that they had won, and then they handed him a brown file and told him a new war was beginning.

 

No one had time to think about it until after Manhattan was saved, until after Loki was defeated and transported back to Asgard, and no one really knew who first whispered the idea, but two months after Steve Rogers was found alive in the Arctic, a SHIELD search party was sent to the Austrian Alps with the most advanced thermal technology invented to date. It still took them eight days of searching to find Bucky’s body.

 

XxxXxxX

 

The first noise he heard was beeping. It was steady, unending, and invasive. It felt as if it was drawing him from his sleep, from a dream he couldn’t wake up from. He felt sluggish; his limbs were too heavy to move and he was just so terribly weary. He wanted to go back to sleep, but his body was telling him he had slept for long enough.

 

The light hurt his eyes when he first opened them, too bright and too harsh. He screwed his eyes shut again with a faint groan. The beeping continued, ignorant of his growing annoyance. He cautiously opened one eye again, letting his vision adjust before he opened the other.

 

He was in a room with glass walls covered by white curtains. He was lying in a narrow bed that allowed him to recline half sitting up. There were machines on both sides of the bed, the sort that might have come straight out of Stark’s lab, and the beeping was coming from one of them.

 

He went to raise his left hand to rub his face and found he couldn’t move his arm. Alarmed, he looked down. His left arm ended in a bandaged stump just above where his elbow would have been. 

 

“What the fuck?” he demanded.

 

“Take it easy,” said a gentle female voice. He jerked his head up.

 

A red haired woman sat at the foot of his bed, watching him with intense, green eyes. Her body language was wary though her clothing was casual, and when she stood it was with the attitude that she could take care of herself. 

 

“You’re in a hospital in Munich, Germany, Sergeant Barnes,” she told him. “Your body was discovered under the ice in a river in the Alps six days ago.”

 

He stared at her. He was fairly certain he was on a great deal of morphine, because he just felt more or less numb. “What the fuck happened to my arm?” he asked thickly, his tongue and lips not cooperating fully.

 

“Your arm was badly damaged by your fall,” she told him. “It had to be amputated.”

 

He blinked at her a couple of times. “Where’s Steve?” he asked, because Steve had to be around somewhere if he had his ass landed in the hospital. The woman circled the bed to stand next to him. He finally noticed what she was wearing: a low-cut green blouse, tan leather jacket, and extremely snug denim trousers. Entirely inappropriate for a hospital.

 

“There’s something you need to hear, first,” she told him, her voice still gentle, like she was talking to a dangerous animal.

 

“Where’s Steve?” he asked again, frowning. Had something happened to Steve? Is that what she was trying to tell him?

 

“Captain Rogers is in New York,” she assured him.

 

He relaxed at that. Steve was okay, then. He was home. Then he frowned again. Why was Steve home? Steve wouldn’t leave the Western Theater until the war was over, not while there were still men laying down their lives.

 

“Sergeant Barnes,” the woman said, getting his attention. “You’ve been trapped in the Austrian Alps for a very long time.”

 

He swallowed. “How long?” he asked roughly.

 

“Sixty-seven years,” she told him.

 

He stared at her, the words  not registering for a long time. “That’s not possible,” he said flatly.

 

She nodded. “It’s the year two thousand and twelve.”

 

Bucky shook his head and tried to sit up but the woman very easily pushed him back down. “That’s impossible,” he said again. “You’re lying. It  _ can’t _ be. I’d be fucking ninety years old.”

 

The woman held up a small object, rectangular, with a screen. It was playing a moving picture, except it was in full color, and tiny, fitting into the palm of her hand. It was Steve, walking along a corridor and talking to a man in a suit with a receding hairline. There was sound accompanying the video, but it was just a background of overlapping voices.

 

Bucky stared at the device, eyes wide and jaw slack. “Steve?” he asked in a whisper.

 

“Captain Rogers was found in the Arctic two months ago,” the woman told him, putting the device back in her pocket. “He forced a Hydra Plane full of bombs into the ocean three days after you fell.”

 

Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a long sigh. “Yeah. Sounds like something that stupid fucker would do.” He lowered his hand and gave the woman an intense look. “He’s all right? He’s not hurt?”

 

“He is physically uninjured, but he’s as confused as you are,” the woman said, clasping her hands in front of her. “It’s an understandable reaction.”

 

Bucky frowned. “How am I alive?” he asked.

 

“According to the tests we ran while you were asleep, you were administered with a serum similar to the one developed by Project Rebirth,” the woman replied, her voice emotionless and factual. “We are assuming this occurred during your imprisonment at the Azzano prison camp.”

 

Bucky’s jaw clenched involuntarily. “Yeah,” he said tersely. “Zola. He…” he couldn’t finish the sentence.

 

“The serum is what allowed you to both survive the fall and the ice,” the woman explained. “While it was the ice itself that kept you...preserved.”

 

Bucky ran his hand over his face. He looked down at the stump of his left arm and tried to move it experimentally. He had a little bit of motion but not much.

 

“I assure you, we will be able to provide you with the very best of prosthetics,” the woman informed him.

 

He looked at her. “What’s your name?” he asked.

 

“Natasha Romanoff,” she told him. “I work for SHIELD, which grew out of the SSR. We were founded by Peggy Carter and Howard Stark in 1951.”

 

“Well, Miss Romanoff,” Bucky said. “I don’t give a damn about my arm at the moment. I want to see Steve.”

 

“I’ll arrange a flight to New York first thing in the morning,” she promised him. “You should get some rest. The doctors are going to have to clear you for release.” She turned and started to leave.

 

“Miss,” Bucky called, and she stopped to look back at him. “The War,” he asked. “Did we win?”

 

She smiled faintly. “Yes. You did.”

 

XxxXxxX

 

Bucky endured the doctors poking and prodding him for over an hour before he stood up and started demanding clothes. They tried to make him sit back down and let them finish their tests, but when one made the mistake of trying to force him back to the bed, Bucky punched him in the jaw. 

 

He'd just meant to make a point, to get them to back off, but the doctor went down hard, out cold. Bucky stumbled awkwardly, unused to his new center of balance. The doctors backed off warily, eying him nervously. One of them tried to surreptitiously retrieve a needle from a drawer. 

 

Bucky pointed at him. “Come near me with that and I'll knock your block off,” he threatened. 

 

“Sergeant Barnes,” Natasha Romanoff barked.

 

He turned, losing his balance again. “You said you'd take me to see Steve,” he accused. 

 

“Sergeant, you have survived an ordeal literally only one other person could have survived. You _ need _ to be medically cleared before you can be released.” 

 

“I'm fine,” he growled. “I'm minus a fucking arm, but I'm fine. Healthy as a horse. Now I want to see Steve.”

 

“I will personally escort you to New York,” Natasha promised. “ _ If _ and _ when _ doctors pronounce you fit for travel.” She crossed her arms. “You fell over three hundred feet and survived without oxygen, frozen in ice, for almost  _ seventy _ years. I don't think you realize the true magnitude of this.”

 

“I fought a war against men carrying guns that shot blue energy that disintegrated people, led by a man with a red skull for a face,” Bucky told her. “Trust me, doll, I've heard stranger.”

 

“The world, as it turns out, is stranger than you could ever have imagined,” Natasha told him. She pointed at the bed. “Now sit down and let the doctors work.” 

 

Bucky had that heard that tone before, plenty of times, from Agent Carter after Steve went and did some boneheaded thing and she wanted to know why he didn't stop him. 

 

Carter. She'd be an old woman now, if she was even still alive. And not just Carter. His ma, his sisters, the other Howlies, everyone he had known was either old or dead. He had no one left.

 

Bucky slowly lowered himself onto the bed, his knees suddenly weak. He stared blankly ahead as the doctors finished their tests. He didn't realize they were done until Natasha touched his uninjured shoulder. 

 

“Sergeant Barnes,” she said gently. “Are you alright?”

 

He blinked a couple of times and focused on her face. “Yeah,” he said roughly. “I'm aces.”

 

She patted his shoulder. “Let's get you some clothes.”

 

The clothes she brought him were unfamiliar and tight fitting, but soft. They pinned up the sleeve of his jacket so it wouldn't get in his way. He couldn't help walking with a pronounced swagger. He vaguely remembered one of the doctors telling him it would take a while for him to adapt to his new center of gravity. 

 

They took him straight from the hospital to a car with blacked out windows. He frowned as he got in. “Worried I might see something I shouldn't?” he asked Natasha. 

 

“A lot has changed in the last seventy years, Sergeant. We just want to make this transition as smooth as possible.”

 

“Well I can tell you it ain't gonna be,” Bucky told her flatly. “Seventy years is a long fucking time.”

 

“I understand how difficult this is for you,” Natasha began, but Bucky cut her off with a sharp gesture, then clenched his fist.

 

“You don't fucking know anything,” he said in a low voice. 

 

Natasha nodded slowly and said nothing for the rest of the trip. She was first out of the car when they stopped. Bucky got the door open and got out before the driver could get it for him. They were on an airstrip, and a white airplane with the name “Stark” emblazoned on its side waited for them. 

 

Bucky frowned again. “Stark owns a plane?”

 

“He owns three,” Natasha said dryly as she started walking towards the plane. 

 

Bucky caught up with her. “What the hell does Stark need three planes for?” he demanded. 

 

Natasha gave him a wry look. “I'm sure you can use your imagination.”

 

The inside of the plane was luxurious the likes of which Bucky had never seen. He stood for a moment, unsure if this was meant for him. Last week he was sleeping in a tent and eating cold food out of a can. Now he had a plane all to himself just to take him to New York. 

 

Bucky gingerly sat down in a chair back a window. Natasha sat in the chair facing him. “There's some champagne in the fridge, I think,” she him. 

 

“No, thanks,” he said quickly. Then he thought for a moment. “Is there any beer?”

 

“No, but I think there is a particularly nice bourbon, if you'd prefer,” she replied. 

 

He bobbed his head. “I think I could do with a drink.”

 

It was a long flight to New York, and Bucky spent most of it drinking and thinking. Thanks to whatever the hell it was that Zola did to him, he didn't feel more than a little warm, which was probably a good thing considering what he was thinking about. 

 

Seventy years. It had a long time since he'd thought more than a few months--hell, even a few _ weeks _ \--in advance. Now he was seven fucking decades in the future and his whole life was gone. 

 

Except Steve. 

 

That eased the tightness in his chest a little, made it all a little easier to process. Steve was alive, he was fine, and he was waiting for him in New York. He was going home. He'd been fighting in the war for so long it felt as if he'd never get back. 

 

“You should get some sleep,” Natasha said about half way through the flight. 

 

“No offense, miss, but I think I've done enough sleeping,” Bucky told her. 

 

She reached into the bag she'd carried onto the plane with her and pulled out three brand new paperbacks. “I thought you might like some reading material,” she said, offering them to him. 

 

The first one was  The Odyssey , the second was Huckleberry Finn . The third was one he didn't recognize, called  The Hobbit . Natasha leaned over and pointed to the last book. 

 

“This was written by a veteran of World War II,” she told him. 

 

“World War?” he echoed. “Two?”

 

“That's what the wars are called now,” she replied. “The Great War and your war.”

 

“World War.” He scoffed. “Yeah. Fitting.” He opened the third book to the first page.

 

The book was small enough to fit in his pocket when they landed, as he'd only gotten about a quarter of the way through it. Another car with blacked out windows was waiting for them at the airstrip. This ride was much shorter and brought them to a courtyard of a building that seemed to be made entirely of mirrors. 

 

The building was crawling with people on the inside. Bucky saw men in what looked like tactical gear and women in pantsuits, saw Blacks and Asians and Whites all working together. They all looked busy, all had some job to do.

 

The building itself was a marvel of engineering. Twice Natasha had to urge him along when he stopped to stare, slack-jawed. Natasha led him to an elevator and ushered him in. “No operator?” he asked, looking around the empty box.

 

“No,” she told him, smiling.

 

Before the doors closed, a man in a dark suit stepped into the elevator, carrying a metal case. “Oh, hey, Romanoff,” he greeted. “Weren't you just in Germany?”

 

“Just got back,” Natasha replied. “How’s Peter?”

 

“A lot better, thanks for asking. I never thought I'd be grateful for paperwork, but form 67 has been really useful. They tried to tell me that I wasn't qualified to make decisions regarding his medical care.” The man shook his head. “We've been together for fifteen years. We're getting married next summer. If I'm not qualified, I don't know who the hell is.”

 

Natasha nodded with a smile. “I'm glad to hear he's on the mend,” she said mildly.  The elevator came to a halt with a cheery ding and she moved to get off, but Bucky was still staring at the man. Natasha grabbed Bucky's sleeve and tugged him along. 

 

“Did he just say he was marrying another man?” Bucky asked in a voice barely above a whisper. 

 

“Times have changed, Sergeant,” Natasha told him. “Gay marriage is legal in the state of New York.”

 

“It's legal?” Bucky repeated, to make sure he'd heard correctly.

 

“Yes,” Natasha said. “A lot has happened while you've been away. That might be a subject you want to ask questions about quietly. Some people may still be sensitive about it.”

 

“Yeah, I can imagine,” Bucky said dryly. “You know being queer was illegal, right?”

 

“That word isn't widely used in that context anymore,” Natasha warned him. She came to a halt outside a set of double doors. “Captain Rogers is inside,” she told him. “He's being debriefed on a recent training exercise.”

 

Bucky frowned. “You didn't tell him I was coming?”

 

“We weren't sure of your...status until you woke up, and we thought it best not to get his hopes up,” Natasha said delicately.  

 

“Huh,” Bucky said, and opened the door.

 

Steve was sitting in a chair facing the door against the opposite wall, his chin propped on his hand, while he listened to a dark-haired man with a goatee speak. Steve's eyes flicked to the door when Bucky opened it. Steve's elbow slipped off the arm of his chair.

 

For a moment the two of them stared at each other. Bucky checked Steve over from head to toe. He looked healthy, clean, and well-fed, all good signs. Steve stared at Bucky as if he was looking at a ghost.

 

Which was sort of accurate.

 

Steve slowly got to his feet, never taking his eyes off the man in the doorway. “Bucky?” he asked, his voice hushed.

 

Bucky slowly walked over to meet Steve, only noting the others in the room distantly. As soon as he was close enough, he hauled back and punched Steve in the jaw as hard as he could.

 

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” Bucky yelled as Steve rocked back, clapping a hand to his bruised cheek. “Three days. Three fucking days I'm gone and you go crashing a plane into the fucking Arctic! What the hell were you thinking? What the fuck is wrong with you? And you can't be bothered to give them your coordinates? You got us stuck in ice for  _ seventy fucking years _ , you shithead!”

 

Steve just stared at him, hand on his cheek. Everyone else in the room was staring, too, but Bucky didn't give a damn. 

 

“It's not bad enough that you go jumping on grenades or out of airplanes right into enemy fire,” he went on.  “No, you gotta go and pull the dumbest fucking trick in the book, and you've done some pretty dumb shit, let me tell you.  _ Seventy goddamn years _ , Steve! I oughta kick your ass straight outta that window for pulling shit like that. I'd be surprised if there's any stupid left in the world ‘cause you took it all with you into the  _ goddamn Arctic ocean. _ ”

 

Bucky took a breath, ready to keep going, but Steve made a half-aborted gesture in his direction. “Bucky,” he said again, his voice breaking.

 

“Aw, hell,” Bucky said, and grabbed Steve's shoulder to pull him in. Steve hugged him tight enough that his ribs creaked, sobbing quietly into his ear. “It's all right, you dumb punk,” Bucky murmured back. “It's all right.”

 

Steve abruptly let go of Bucky and held him at arm's length. “Your arm,” he said in dismay.

 

Bucky slapped Steve's shoulder. “Forget it, Stevie,” he said with forced lightness. “It’s nothing.”

 

“I would like to officially ask, what the hell?”

 

Bucky turned to look at the man who had spoken and blinked in surprise. “Shit,” he said. “He looks just like Stark.”

 

“Tony, hi,” the man said with a wave. “His son.”

 

“Stark had a kid?” Bucky asked, his eyebrows shooting up. “And they allowed it?”

 

Steve tried to hide a laugh with a cough while Tony Stark looked annoyed.

 

“And you are?” Tony asked.

 

“Sergeant James Barnes, at your service,” Bucky said, giving him a mocking salute.

 

Tony pointed at him. “Wait. Barnes. Bucky Barnes?  _ The  _ Bucky Barnes? Romanoff, I demand an explanation.”

 

Natasha waved vaguely in Steve and Bucky’s direction. “Ice. Super Soldiers. Hypothermic-induced hibernation.”

 

Tony glared at her. “Thanks, that was very helpful.”

 

She shrugged uncaringly and turned to Steve. “Captain, I'm sure you and Sergeant Barnes have a lot of catching up to do,” she hinted.

 

“Yeah,” Steve said after a minute. He had never taken his hands off Bucky’s shoulders. He dropped his hands now and shoved them awkwardly into his pockets. “We can get out of here, if you want,” he told Bucky.

 

“I could eat,” Bucky suggested with a lopsided grin.

 

“Yeah, alright,” Steve said quickly, and started for the door, Bucky falling into step beside him. As soon as they were back in the hallway, though, Bucky reached out and grabbed Steve’s arm.

 

“Hey, you got a room?” he asked, his voice low as his gaze darted around to make sure there was no one within earshot.

 

“What?” Steve asked, blinking at him.

 

“You got a room, or do they make you kip on the floor in a corner?” Bucky asked again.

 

“I got a room,” Steve told him slowly, still confused. “Why?”

 

“Because what I really want to do is to fuck you against the wall, but if you wanna do it right here, I’m fine with that,” Bucky told him with a shit-eating grin.

 

Steve turned bright red and did his own scan of their surroundings to make sure no one had overheard. “Bucky,” he hissed in warned. “ _ Jesus _ . What the fuck is wrong with you?”

 

“I was trapped in a frozen river in the goddamn alps for seventy years,” Bucky deadpanned. “That’s a hell of a long time to be away from my best guy.”

 

Steve stayed crimson and shook his head at Bucky. “You’re a fucking jerk,” he muttered.

 

“And you’re a goddamn punk,” Bucky retorted. “Now show me this room of yours.”

 

Steve turned on his heel and started walking. Bucky instinctively fell in on Steve’s right, matching Steve’s slightly-longer gait. Steve darted another look at Bucky’s pinned-up jacket sleeve. “Your arm,” he tried to begin, but Bucky cut him off with a glare.

 

“Drop it,” he growled.

 

“Bucky, you lost your  _ whole fucking arm _ ,” Steve burst out.

 

“Coulda been worse,” Bucky snapped back.

 

“Yeah?” Steve challenged. “How?”

 

“I could be dead,” Bucky replied sharply. “Or  _ you _ could be dead. But I’m not, and neither are you. We’re seventy years in the future, and all we’ve got left is each other, but at least we’ve got that. And if it cost me my arm, I’m okay with that, so just leave it, willya?”

 

Steve pressed his lips together in a thin line. “Stark’s good with machines,” he said after a long moment of silence. “Maybe he can make you a new arm.”

 

“Maybe,” Bucky said dubiously. He didn’t like the idea of anyone fucking around with his arm right now, especially a Stark. Howard had been a genius, certainly, but that didn’t mean Bucky had trusted him, not one hundred percent. And he didn’t know this kid Tony. Kid. Heh. The man had looked at least a decade older than him and Steve. Bucky did some mental mathematics.

 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he said out loud, his face crumpling in disgust.

 

“What?” Steve demanded, his anxiety audibly ratcheting up another notch.

 

“I’m ninety-five years old,” Bucky told him. “And you, you’re  _ ninety-four _ . What the hell, Stevie?”

 

Steve shrugged uncomfortably. “It doesn’t get easier,” he said morosely. “I’ve been awake for two months and it still throws me off.” Steve kept walking, leading him deeper into the building. Steve opted for the stairs instead of the elevator. “When did they find you?” he asked in a low voice.

 

“Week ago,” Bucky replied shortly. “Took me six days to wake up, according to Miss Romanoff.”

 

Steve waved at Bucky’s injured shoulder. “And did they...did that…” he was unable to finish the question.

 

“Before I woke up,” Bucky replied flatly.

 

They walked in silence for a few minutes, and then Steve spoke again. “It was Zola, wasn’t it?” he asked softly. “What he did to you, that you survived?”

 

“Yeah,” Bucky said, still emotionlessly. He didn’t want to discuss it now anymore than he had when Steve had rescued him, a year ago.  _ Seventy years ago _ . Damn. That wasn’t gonna get easier any time soon.

 

The people thinned out the further into the building they got, until it was rare they passed another person. Steve led him down a hallway with numbered doors spaced out at regular intervals, and Steve stopped at one numbered 127. He pulled a small card from his pocket and waved it at a flat black square in the wall. There was a beep and the door clicked. Steve turned the knob and opened the door, stepping through it first.

 

Bucky followed and kicked the door shut behind them, and then grabbed Steve by the shoulder and pushed him against the wall. He crashed their mouths together with more force than he’d intended, noses bumping and teeth clashing, but Steve responded by grabbing Bucky’s hips and pulling their bodies flush together.

 

For a long time Bucky got lost in the kiss, the shared breaths and the taste of Steve’s mouth and the feel of their tongues sliding together. For a while it was enough, after so long spent stealing moments in dark corners, hushed and half afraid they’d be caught any minute. Bucky was pretty sure Steve would’ve kept his position, being Captain America and all, but  _ he’d _ have gotten booted faster than you could say “goddamn queer.”

 

It was Steve who made the first move, reaching up to slide Bucky’s jacket off his shoulders. Steve’s hand grazed the remains of Bucky’s left arm just a hair too roughly, and he hissed in pain, but quickly distracted Steve by nibbling at his lower lip.

 

Unbuttoning a shirt with only one hand was harder than Bucky had anticipated, and he struggled on the third button of Steve’s shirt. Steve gently batted his hand away and undid the rest himself before grabbing the hem of Bucky’s shirt and carefully pulling it over Bucky’s head.

 

Bucky’s left arm was wrapped in bandages from stump to shoulder, and covered in a sleeve to keep the bandages clean and dry. Steve ghosted his fingers over Bucky’s shoulder, his expression sorrowful.

 

“I should have caught you,” he said, his voice breaking.

 

Bucky kissed Steve, hard and insistent, before releasing him and pressing their foreheads together. “It’s not your fault, Stevie,” he said hoarsely. “You did the best you could.”

 

“No, I didn’t,” Steve insisted, the fingers of one hand hooking into the waist of Bucky’s trousers to keep their bodies pressed together. “I shouldn’t have let you fall.”

 

“If you’d caught me, you’d have still gone down in that plane, you stupid punk, and I wouldn’t be here with you now,” Bucky told him. “I don’t care about my goddamn arm, Steve. If I’d have lost you, I would’ve fucking  _ died _ .”

 

Steve whined in his throat at that realization, and buried his face against the side of Bucky’s neck, his other arm looping around Bucky’s waist. Steve held him for a moment, his breath ragged against Bucky’s skin. Bucky carded his fingers through Steve’s hair soothingly, murmuring wordless comfort.

 

“I thought you were  _ dead _ ,” Steve said brokenly, his voice muffled. “I thought you were dead and I couldn’t...I just couldn’t live like that. Not without you.”  _ That’s why I put the plane down _ . He didn’t speak the words but they hung heavy in the air.

 

“I’m right here,” Bucky murmured. “I’m right here. Ain’t going anywhere.”

 

Steve tightened his grip on Bucky again, his uneven breathing bordering on sobs. Bucky kept smoothing Steve’s hair, repeating his words over and over until Steve’s hold on him relaxed and Steve lifted his head. “You all right?” Bucky asked, brow furrowed as he studied Steve’s face.

 

Steve nodded and leaned in to kiss Bucky again, soft and chaste. He would have pulled away but Bucky chased the kiss, licking into Steve’s mouth again and drawing a moan from Steve’s throat. Bucky huffed a laugh against Steve’s lips when Steve started to walk him backwards, guiding him with one hand on Bucky’s hip and the other buried in Bucky’s hair.

 

Bucky felt the bed hit the back of his knees and he sat down, scooting backwards to draw Steve after him. He didn’t pull away long enough to examine the room fully, but the bed seemed to be of a good size and that was enough for now.

 

Steve knelt between Bucky’s thighs, supporting himself with one arm against the bed, which was good because Bucky only had one hand to hold himself up and it was busy working the belt out of Steve’s pants. Steve’s mouth wandered to Bucky’s throat, lapping and nibbling along Bucky’s jaw. Bucky finally got the belt free and tossed it aside before undoing the button of Steve’s pants. Bucky felt Steve’s breath stutter against his skin.

 

Steve eased Bucky onto his back, his mouth moving from Bucky’s neck to his clavicle, sucking marks onto his collarbone. Bucky slid his hand under the waistband of Steve’s jeans to palm his ass, drawing a breathy moan from Steve that went straight to Bucky’s groin.

 

“Kid, if you don’t get the rest of your damn clothes off, I’m gonna rip them off,” Bucky growled.

 

“Is that a promise?” Steve asked, and Bucky could feel his smile before he nipped playfully at Bucky's  collarbone.

 

“God _ dammit _ , Steve,” Bucky said, tugging at Steve’s pants. “You’re a fucking tease.”

 

“And you’re bossy,” Steve replied, and pushed himself off of Bucky. He stood and stripped out of his pants, boxers and all. Then he reached down and unzipped Bucky’s pants for him. Bucky toed his boots off and lifted his hips so Steve could fully remove them.

 

Steve bent down, bracing his hands on either side of Bucky’s thighs, and pressed a kiss to the hollow of Bucky’s hip before biting lightly at the jutting hipbone. He traveled upwards across Bucky’s stomach and chest, kissing, nipping, and lapping until he reached Bucky’s mouth again.

 

Bucky was breathless by the time Steve’s mouth found his, his skin burning with Steve’s touches. His hand stroked down Steve’s back, feeling the muscles tense and ripple, down past the dip in his spine, and cupped Steve’s ass again. Steve suddenly groaned, sounding more out of frustration, and pulled away from Bucky.

 

“What’s wrong?” Bucky asked quickly, studying Steve’s face.

 

Steve’s expression pinched in disappointment. “I don’t have anything,” he said. “You know…”

 

“Jesus, Steve,” Bucky said, letting his head fall back. “I’m sure we can think of something to do that doesn’t require a prophylactic.”

 

“I might have a few ideas,” Steve said, his expression turning crafty. He ducked his head to close his mouth over Bucky’s nipple and ground his hips against Bucky’s. Bucky groaned out a laugh and rocked his hips up in response, trying to get the best angle of friction.

 

Steve laved his tongue against Bucky’s nipple before catching it between his teeth. The sensation stole Bucky's breath away, and then Steve reached a hand between them.

 

“ _ Christ _ ,” Bucky gasped. “Fuck.  _ Steve _ . _ ” _

 

Steve moved back up to capture Bucky’s mouth with his, to swallow Bucky’s moan as his hand worked long, slow strokes. Steve knew Bucky, knew every inch of his body, knew how to keep him just on the edge for as long as he wanted, and they had all the time in the world at the moment, in a locked room with soundproof walls. Steve could keep Bucky going for hours with nothing more than his mouth and his hands.

 

Bucky, however, was having none of it. He rocked his hips harder against Steve’s hand, his fingers digging into the meat of Steve’s ass hard enough to leave bruises against the pale skin, trying to urge Steve on faster. He  _ needed  _ Steve to move faster, tried to articulate his need out loud, but when he opened his mouth, Steve slid his tongue inside, stifling his words.

 

Steve kept his steady pace, guiding them both along, building with each stroke. Bucky squeezed his thighs against Steve’s hips to keep them from trembling, but he couldn’t stop his breath from stuttering in his throat. Steve broke away from Bucky’s mouth with a whine and pressed his forehead against Bucky’s throat. He was close; Bucky felt it in the shudders that ran the length of Steve’s body.

 

Steve’s self control was truly heroic, because he never changed his pace, despite Bucky’s wordless growls of protest, until finally Bucky tipped over the edge with a low cry, Steve following not long after. Mindless in his release, Steve dropped onto the bed beside Bucky, right onto his injured arm.

 

Pleasure was instantly forgotten in pain and Bucky cried out, instinctively curling up to protect himself, tears starting in his eyes.

 

“ _ Fuck _ ,” Steve spat, sitting back up and leaning over Bucky. “Bucky, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Are you--are you okay? Bucky?”

 

Bucky couldn’t find the breath to reply and just focused on blocking out the pain. He could feel Steve carding his fingers through his hair, chanting his name over and over and Bucky held onto that, used it as an anchor until the pain finally began to lessen.

 

“I’m so sorry,” Steve repeated. “Buck, I’m so sorry. I didn’t think. I shoulda been more careful. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

 

Bucky blinked his eyes back open and squinted up at Steve. “Shuddup,” he told him roughly. “‘S an accident. Don’t beat yourself up.” He reached over and gingerly probed along his left shoulder blade, afraid to actually touch the stump itself.

 

“Pocket of my jacket,” he said.

 

Steve clambered out of the bed obediently and picked up Bucky’s discarded jacket. He dug in the pocket and pulled out a orange pill bottle. He read the label as he returned to the bed.

 

“These’ll work?” he asked, opening the top and shaking one pill out onto his hand.

 

“Not completely,” Bucky replied. “You know, what with being a super soldier and all. But they’ll take the edge off.”

 

Steve handed Bucky the tablet and Bucky swallowed it dry.

 

“Says to take with food,” Steve said, reading the label again.

 

Bucky shifted into a more comfortable position, not yet ready to uncoil from his protective huddle. “Told ya before. I could eat.” He gave Steve a rueful half grin. “Hungrier, now.”

 

Steve couldn’t summon a smile in return, his features too deeply stamped with concern. He disappeared into the bathroom and returned with a warm, wet towel and tried to clean Bucky up, but Bucky took the towel from him and did it himself.

 

“Go get us something to eat,” Bucky ordered, throwing the towel back at Steve. “I’m starving.”

 

“Bossy,” Steve reminded him, and got dressed before leaving.

 

The pain pill kicked in pretty quickly, leaving Bucky drowsy and thick-headed. He must have dozed, because he lost time before he heard the door open and Steve walked back in, carrying plastic bags in one hand a black duffel in the other.

 

Bucky grunted and lifted his head, squinting blearily at the duffel bag. “Whazzat?” he asked thickly.

 

“Agent Romanoff gave it to me,” Steve told him. “Said it was for you.”

 

Bucky blinked and looked at the plastic bags. “Food?” he asked hopefully.

 

“The mess was serving meatloaf,” Steve said. “It’s actually pretty good.”

 

“The last meal I ate came through a tube,” Bucky told him. “And the one before that was army rations halfway up a fucking mountain. They could be serving stale bread for all I care.”

 

Steve unpacked the plastic bags, revealing six square packages that contained generous portions of meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and broccoli. Bucky didn’t bother getting dressed before digging in. He moaned with pleasure at the first bite of potatoes. Real, not from a powder. And the broccoli was fresh, steamed and seasoned with nothing but salt. The meatloaf was as good as Steve promised, and Bucky devoured his half of the food in record time.

 

As Steve cleaned up the remains of their meal, Bucky investigated the duffel bag. Inside were neatly folded shirts and pants, a plastic package of underwear, another plastic bag full of toiletries, and at the very bottom of the bag… Bucky pulled the items out and started cackling.

 

Steve looked up, almost alarmed at Bucky’s laughter. “What?” he demanded.

 

“Son of a bitch,” Bucky gasped between chuckles. He held up the box of condoms and bottle of lube. Steve turned crimson red.

 

“ _ Romanoff _ put that in there?” Steve asked in disbelief.

 

“You know it’s not illegal anymore, right?” Bucky asked, repacking the duffel but leaving the condoms and lube out. “She told me queers can even get married now in New York.”

 

Steve went completely still. “Really?” he asked, an edge of hope in his voice. “They...they didn’t tell me that.”

 

“Probably because no one ever knew Captain America is a fairy,” Bucky told him.

 

Steve crossed the room and crawled onto the bed next to Bucky, taking painstaking care to avoid Bucky’s left side. “But she really said that? Guys can marry guys now? And it’s legal?”

 

“Can’t think why she’d lie to me,” Bucky told him.

 

“You know what this means, though, right?” Steve asked him excitedly.

 

Bucky leaned towards him. “If this is you about to propose to me, you need to stop and think of a better method. I’m less than impressed.”

 

Steve pushed him playfully but followed it with a quick kiss. “Jerk. I already know you’d marry me in a heartbeat.”

 

Bucky grabbed the collar of Steve’s shirt and brought him in for a longer kiss. “Even if it wasn’t legal.” Bucky replied. “Til the end of the line, doll.” He let go of Steve’s collar and reached for the box of condoms. He shook them invitingly. “I’ve got some more ideas for you.”

 

Steve frowned at him. “Are you sure?” he asked. “Does it still hurt?”

 

“I’m fine,” Bucky assured him, even though his arm was still sore, and ached with a bone-deep pain. “Take your clothes off and I’ll prove it.” 

 

“Maybe we should wait,” Steve suggested.

 

“Steve,” Bucky said, letting his voice get low and husky. “I want to fuck you, slow, like we used to, in our little apartment in Brooklyn, and if you think I can’t do it with only one arm, you’ve got another thing coming to ya.”

 

Steve flushed pink and he licked his lips. “We gotta be careful,” he said. “I don’t wanna hurt you again.”

 

“All right, we’ll be careful,” Bucky agreed impatiently. He dropped the condoms and tugged at Steve’s shirt. “Get this off, now.”

 

“Yes,  _ sir _ ,” Steve said mockingly, and obediently stripped the shirt over his head. He wriggled out of his pants and tossed them aside as well. Bucky reached out and drew him close for a kiss, sloppy with want. Steve leaned into the kiss but was clearly favoring Bucky’s left side, his body angled away from Bucky’s shoulder.

 

Steve drew away from the kiss reluctantly. “How you want to do this?” he asked. “What’ll be easiest?”

 

Bucky considered for a moment and then gestured. “Lay on your back,” he ordered. They shuffled around until Steve was in the position Bucky thought best, shoulders propped against the headboard. Bucky leaned down to kiss Steve again.

 

“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he said against Steve’s mouth. “Every inch of you.”

 

“You’re not hard on the eyes yourself.” Steve replied, his hands cradling Bucky’s face. “I missed you so much.”

 

“I ain’t going anywhere,” Bucky promised again. He kissed Steve roughly, swirling his tongue through Steve’s mouth. “You ready?”

 

“Yeah,” Steve said, breath hitching in anticipation.

 

Bucky sat back and picked up the bottle of lube, momentarily flummoxed when he realized he couldn’t do what he wanted with only one hand. With a frustrated huff, he handed it to Steve. Steve opened the bottle and squeezed some out onto Bucky’s fingers. Bucky knelt between Steve’s thighs and, keeping his eyes on Steve’s face, slid two fingers inside Steve.

 

Steve’s eyes rolled back and his back arched, just a little, his hands clenching in the sheets. “Is that good?” Bucky asked, grinning at Steve’s reaction.

 

“Yeah,” Steve panted again. “More. More of that.” Bucky waited a few moments to let Steve get acclimated, and then gently began to massage to tight muscles there, a slow slide in and out. Steve moaned, drawing his knees up and clutching harder at the sheets.

 

“Feels good?” Bucky asked again, and Steve nodded, vigorously but wordlessly. “Tell me. Tell me how it feels.”

 

“Feels good,” Steve replied obediently, his voice uneven. “ _ God _ , Bucky. More.  _ Please _ .”

 

“We’ll get there,” Bucky promised. The sight of Steve so pliant and needy excited Bucky, but he wanted to take his time, wanted to do this right. They hadn’t been able to do this since he’d left for the war. There’d been no privacy on the front lines. They’d had to make do with rushed handjobs and using cold nights as an excuse to huddle together for warmth. Being here, now, was a gift, and Bucky was going to savor every moment of it.

 

Bucky felt the muscles around his fingers start to relax, and added a third one, sliding them in up to the knuckles and crooking them to match the curve of Steve’s body. Steve banged the back of his head against the headboard. 

 

“ _ Fuck _ ,” Steve panted out. “Bucky...I wanna…” He had to visibly force his hands to not wander, to bring himself to his own release.

 

“Patience,” Bucky chided. His own need was distracting but he set it aside for the moment, focusing all of his attention on Steve, timing the thrusts of his fingers to Steve’s shallow breaths. He would make Steve come undone, completely wrecked by his arousal and subsequent release. Bucky would do this for Steve, to prove that he was fine, that nothing had changed between them.

 

Steve grew impatient and started rocking his hips back against Bucky’s fingers, trying to draw him deeper, move him faster. There was no way Bucky could stop him, so he retaliated by withdrawing his fingers completely. Steve whined in protest and opened his eyes to look pleadingly at Bucky.

 

Bucky wiped his slick fingers on the sheets and handed Steve the bottle of lube. “Can’t do it like this,” he explained. “You need to be on top.”

 

Steve huffed, half in exasperation, and sat up so Bucky could take his place. Steve tore apart the box of condoms in his impatience before freeing one from its packaging. Then he knelt astride Bucky’s hips and slowly lowered himself down, using one hand to guide Bucky in.

 

Bucky’s brain blanked out at the sensation of being inside Steve. He may have made a sound, a curse or a moan, but he wasn’t sure. All he could think and feel and sense was the joining of their bodies, and then Steve rolled his hips forward.

 

“Fuck me,” Bucky moaned out.

 

“What do ya think I’m doing?” Steve panted back. Bucky gripped at Steve’s thigh, fingertips digging into the thick muscle. Steve rolled forward again, stealing Bucky’s breath away. Steve’s hands were braced against Bucky’s ribs, his grip tightening with each roll of his hips. He found a rhythm, unbearably slow, but now that he was in control he wanted to make this last as long as possible.

 

Bucky talked, his brain disconnected from his mouth. Maybe it was a prayer, maybe it was profane, he didn’t care. All he wanted was for Steve to keep moving, to keep the tight slide of him going. Steve began to speed up, leaning into each thrust of his hips back against Bucky’s. Every muscle in Bucky’s body tightened, building toward release, but Steve held him at the edge until they were both quivering and breathless, aware of nothing except the movement of their bodies together.

 

It was Steve who came first this time, and the involuntary clenching of his muscles brought Bucky to release not long after. His vision seemed to white out with the intensity of it, a low groan drawn from his throat. Steve remained where he was, astride Bucky and braced against him, while they came down from it, and then he carefully lowered himself down on Bucky’s good side.

 

Bucky rolled toward him, pressing his face against Steve’s shoulder. “Do I still got it?” he mumbled happily.

 

“Yeah,” Steve replied, still catching his breath

 

Bucky flicked his tongue against Steve’s shoulder, tasting the salt on his skin. “Told ya I was fine,” he said, his voice muffled.

 

“Sure did,” Steve agreed, reaching up to ruffle Bucky’s hair. “It was different, though.”

 

Bucky frowned, annoyed Steve would once more bring up the subject now, when they were vulnerable.

 

“Not because of your arm,” Steve said in a rush, as if he could read Bucky’s mind. “I dunno why. Not bad. Just different.”

 

Bucky rubbed his cheek against Steve’s shoulder, mollified. “Didn’t haveta worry about being caught,” he observed, his eyes fluttering shut. This part was almost as good as the sex itself, just being with Steve, with nothing between them. “Don’t haveta worry about that anymore. Could tell the world. Captain America’s a queer.”

 

“Even if it ain’t illegal anymore, I don’t think the world’s ready to hear that,” Steve replied. “I don’t think  _ I’m _ ready for that. ‘Sides, they’ll probably kick me outta the Army if they knew.”

 

“Mmm,” Bucky murmured. He poked Steve in the ribs. “Killing the mood, there, doll.”

 

“Sorry,” Steve said quickly, and rolled towards Bucky, tangling their legs together and wrapping one arm around Bucky’s waist. He pressed his forehead against Bucky’s with a sigh. “I’m really fucking glad you’re alive, Bucky.”

 

Bucky opened his eyes to stare near sightedly into Steve’s intensely blue ones. “Me, too,” he replied. He poked Steve again. “Don’t ever do anything like that again, or I’ll kick your ass. And I don’t haveta worry about you getting an asthma attack while I do it, either.”

 

Steve scoffed. “Yeah, yeah, love you, too, jerk.”

 

All teasing vanished from Bucky’s expression. “I do, you know,” he said softly. “Love you.”

 

Steve’s face sobered. “I know,” he replied, equally softly. “Til the end of the line.”

  
“Til the end of the line,” Bucky agreed.


End file.
